(Jon-no-H proudly displays his hometown pride on the way to watching them bury the Caps, 5-1. Photo Socotra).
I took my sweet time getting onto the stool at the Amen Corner. I put the cane away. It fell with a clatter. I took off the leg brace and tried to hang it up on the little hook the women use for their purses under the bar. It fell in a pile on the floor next to the cane. I waved at both with frustration. Old Jim growled at me: “Didja vote?”
“I was lucky to get in the shower this morning,” I said, unstrapping the brace from my leg. I have been wearing it over my trousers of late, since I have to get the cursed thing off periodically or the whole extremity goes numb if I leave it on. “I have to wear this thing even when I am under the water.”
“Or else you fall down?”
“Yeah, drowning death is not the way I want to go out.”
“We all go out,” he declared. “That is the only thing certain. No one is unique. That and burial, of course.”
“And the fact that the Democrat is going to win the County Council Special Election,” said John-with-an-H. He was drinking the Happy Hour Red, me the White, and Old Jim the classic Long-neck Budweiser.
“Crap,” I said. “That is three unique things. I forgot to vote on the way to work this morning. I made a mental note and it got erased some place along the way. I must have been thinking about dropping the old television at the Goodwill on the way in.”
“How are you going to do that with the gimp leg?”
“Hope that they have some big guy to help me unload it,” I said a little defensively. “It was a good TV- just not internet-connected. I could never figure out how to hook the computer up to it.”
There was a commotion at the door, and into the dim light of the Willow Bar came Jon-without-H. He was dressed for a sporting event, open collared shirt with trademark no bow tie and proudly wearing a Buffalo Sabers sweater, completely authentic with the ‘CCM’ label affixed prominently to the hem.
“Well, lookie here,” said Old Jim. “A proud Sabers fan!”
Jon-without looked a little sheepish in the public display of his resolve to supporting his home-town team against our local Russians. “Well, yes. It is time to bring out the colors.”
“You going to the game?” I asked.
Jon-without nodded. “Tip off at seven PM,” he said. “I can only stay for two,” he signaled to Liz-with-an-S for an iced tea and vodka. Liz is all about efficiency, and the pale brown highball appeared in front of him in a glimmer of reflected light from the fading sun shining in the plate glass window on the west side of the bar.
“Tip off?” growled Jim.
“Your sweater could turn the whole thing around,” I said.
“It might. Ovechkin has been on a tear for the Caps. They are tied in points for the Cup Playoff. If the Sabers can stop him, they will go two points up with just five games to play in the regular season.”
“Good luck,” I said. “When do the polls close?”
“Seven, same as the first pitch at the hockey game,” said John-with.
“Damn,” I said, “I am going to go when Jon-without does. I don’t want to miss the chance to vote against someone.”
“Who is that going to be?”
“Dunno. I didn’t get much in the way of voting for Daffy Duck the last time. Maybe I will go with the Rabbit.”
“Good. Just don’t through away your vote,” growled Jim. “I think the rabbit has a lot going for him.”
I strapped on the leg brace and walked out when Jon-without felt that he had to be headed for the Metro. “See you tomorrow, Gentlemen,” I said, careful about putting weight on the leg. I did not try to keep up with Jon, who moved gracefully through the crowd on the street like Sabers Right Wing Jason Pominville on a breakaway.
I tapped my way to the Bluesmobile. No one had broken into the car to steal the old television in the back seat, and I resolved to do something about it real soon.
I wheeled up to an empty space in front of the Culpepper Gardens assisted living facility where the polling station is located in a wide wild turn across the left lane. I had minutes to spare, which was useful, since getting out of the car requires a certain pretzel logic with the leg brace. I tapped my way down the sidewalk behind an old woman with a walker who was being helped by a couple who might have been her kids.
When we all arrived at the registrar’s desk, there was an elderly man there who was very confused. He wanted to vote, but did not know where he was registered. There was quite a discussion about that, and eventually I proved my existence to their satisfaction and handed me a voter card. There was no line for the two electronic voting machines, and I waited as the volunteer turned the key to allow me to exercise the franchise.
I leaned heavily on the cane, since it looked as if I put too much weight on the machine it would collapse. I did not want that to be a metaphor, so I was extra careful.
I paged through the menu and saw three names on the ballot, none with party affiliation. “Crap,” I thought. “I should have taken the voter guide from the homeless guy out front. How do I know who to vote against?”
I scrolled back to the write-in page and tapped in the formal name for the Rabbit. I looked at it for a while, and then scrolled forward and looked at the three names that probably were real human beings. I tried to remember the two I wanted to vote against, and took a chance. I hoped I had voted for the candidate who could do the least amount of harm to me. Then I pushed the bright red button that said: “Vote,” and got my sticker from the nice volunteer that proclaimed I had participated in Arlington’s electoral process.
I thanked everyone for their service, and weaved back up the sidewalk and out to the police cruiser.
The sun was just setting when I finally made it up to the unit. I turned on the hockey game and caught up on email while sipping a tall vodka-on-the-rocks. There was a note from my pal Ken, the Commonwealth AG. He wrapped up the arguments on the second day of Health Care argument before the High Court.
Ken claims that there are severe matters of liberty at stake. By implication, he wrote, the Justices seemed, on balance, to be concerned that if we can be compelled to purchase health insurance, then we can be compelled to buy all sorts of things.
Apparently broccoli came up again a couple times. I sighed. I like broccoli, at least mildly blanched and bathed in a delicate cheese sauce. But suppose the Government decided to make us all buy Chevy Volts?
The Solicitor General claimed that was nonsense, since Health Care is completely unique, and the only thing we all need to have at some point. I sort of agree with that, though I find the implications troubling in the extreme. I don’t want to own an electric car, and if I don’t feel like broccoli, I don’t think it is Washington’s place to tell me that I have to.
But Health Care is unique, right? This is special and could never be expanded into other things, right?
I had to laugh when I got most of the way through Ken’s note. The Justices really are funny people. Associate Justice Alito noted. He is really a cut-up on the bench, a regular rascal. The Solicitor General seemed sort of cross with him.
Alito said: “burial costs are expensive, and could hit one unexpectedly as well. Suppose I was too poor to pay my own costs, and hadn’t prepared for my burial. I will still get buried, and those costs will in turn be shifted to others, either by raising everyone else’s burial costs, or in higher taxes if the government has to bury me.”
I glanced up at the new TV, the non-high definition coverage of the game a little blurry on the enormous screen. As it turned out, the Sabers buried the Caps, 5-1, and it might have been Jon-without’s Buffalo sweater that turned the tide.
Couldn’t have been anything else, right? It was unique.
(Caps #8 Alex Ovechkin works the puck around Sabers #24 Robyn Regehr during the third period at the Verizon Center last night at The Phone Booth downtown. The Caps still got smacked, 5-1. Jon-without is just to the upper right. Photo by Rob Carr/Getty Images).
Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com